Kantai Castrations Love Collection
by Darfur Maxx
Summary: An out of town dog finds himself in Elwood City, but things are not what they seem. A Japanese naval base has been founded recently, and silliness is making forced entry like never before. Will Alfred Alfer find true love and happiness, despite the odds? Or will the devilish circumstances and the siren's call of the Playhouse cause him to finally get fixed . . . forever?
1. Alfred Gets Fixed 3

I.

I don't have a real excuse for why I haven't written anything in so long.

It's fucked.

But not as fucked as this really really really really reallyreallyreally SWELL, CONSTIPATED TRIBUTE TO HORRIFYING FANFIC WRITER KNOWN AS **TRAVIS 2016**! ENJOY, YOU SICK GAYS AND FUCKS AND LOLI-GAGGING _CUCKS_ ! ! ! /^_^* /^_^* /^_^* ! ! !

* * *

At age 35, Alfred Alfer needs his genitals removed. That is common for anthropomorphic animals. He will also lose his penis. Not just his balls, scrotum and his prostate. His penis is removed last, so they can reroute his urethra so he can sit to pee. He is at the hospital, stripped naked, and he is **not** having this shit. Screaming, he thrusts his hateful, instantly erect, pus-filled, shit encrusted, pulsating, red doggy dick into the frontal brains of the creepy middle-aged nullo disgusting dogfuck that was responsible for castrating Alfred and turning his magnificent, Alfer-quality genitalia into a sad little agendered hole of despair and canine urination, nice and smooth as a pedophile's bathroom domination fetish. Alfred relishes in fervor in the ritualistic mutilation and man(animal?)slaughter his hyperweapon was causing, making sure his legs were straddling the doctor, and began fucking the all too deserving sicko fifty ways to sunday. He went at it tentatively at first, as if he was sliding in and out of a particularly juicy watermelon that kept whining about castrations while pissing itself.

"We all go through it. Mine have been gone for 14 years. So yes like him I have no penis. After all, you no longer have a penis. And you must sit to pee for now onnnn aaaaa, Buster I start with your prostate aaaaaaaahhaahhh," the doctor drones like an emaciated otter of melancholic dementia and breast cancer awareness, each thrust is making forced entry into the frontal lobe, making him, uh, not smart anymore. "After your penis is off I will gas you. But first I must tell you what I penis. After your peeeee-offfffuuhh you must sit to peeee, eeeehhh I remember hiiiim he was very - vaginaa - to lose his genitals. After your penis is gas, Busteeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrr must sit to penis for 14 years-"

"SHUT UP!" Alfred yells as he punches the stupid dogfuck middle aged male faggot man that had his genitalia removed at age 35 because anthropomorphic animals. He punched him right in the head, again and again, screeching like an emu of hatred trying to explain Mongolian statutory rape laws to a 14 year old pedophile of nihilistic 48 DD cup latina breasts. Little did Alfred realize, in his fit of rage that this would cause the top of the nullo doctor's cranium to become slightly unhinged and give his vengeful 8 inches fat the leverage and identity-disassociation his threatened genitalia and warped inner desires needed to UNLEASH THE FUCKING FURY! Fucking this fucking fuck feels so much better than any dead ass fool Alfred has yiffed and been yiffed by (in varying degrees of consent). What a piece of shit! His hellbound brainrape of ages was an earth-shattering sensation to poor lunatic fringe Alfie, eroding his very sense of morality. He wondered for a moment if this was even happening right now. What if he had finally disassociated to the point where he could not escape this nightmare? Pickles, his dominant dictator persona, has pulled wool over his eyes before, though his fantasies, violent and demeaning as they are, were never quite like this. Things were never quite this... silly. Well, silly doesn't quite fit, but then, what else could be making forced entry? He felt like Hitler and Stalin slipped reverse date rape drugs into his brain earlier this morning, and now he is a slave to the domination of GOD. He now fucks not what he craves and understands, but fucks what he does not desire, he is a hellfucker suffering from Thanatos's driving delusions and wherever he goes in this sad fucking world, he must also fuck, for he truly is FUCKED. FUCKED. FUCKED.

Suddenly, the nullo shitdoctor started to spout surgical inanity like never before, speaking faster and louder until he was foaming at the mouth, eventually retching gobs of it screaming, sounding more and more like a retarded robot turkey on helium, asbestos and meth. Alfred was too distracted to do much about it, for his doggy dick has knotted and is therefore close to ejaculation, which only made the hole in his head bigger, about five times the size of the doctor's nullo hole. In misogynistic hetero manbaby porn addict terms, it was the equivalent of Hitomi Tanaka and Milena Velba's lovechild receiving both a double mastectomy and Ebola in the same operation, said operation being endorsed and funded by the Family Research Council, and the lead surgeon happening to be Denise Milani dressed as Wonder Woman. "Wear these panties, after all, I even remove your clitoris. Let's take off your clothes, nice and smooth as Francine, and penis here you go, no genitals, that I am, remove them Sue Ellen from you. Bud, let's castrate to pee, yep they penis off easily. Jarred preserved genitals must sit to pee for now, penis your Buster first time to remove his genitals, start with your prostate and end with your new pee penis hole is by your butt, you have no penis attached to you, as well as removing female penises, and you're very welcome so your genitals won't fall off because you regenerated the penis so we made it nice and smooth so they won't fall off, killing you. Because you no longer have female vaginas, yep they will be floating in a jar, bring in Alfred so I can remove her PLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE!"

Alfred grips tightly onto the nullo doctor and arches back, moaning like a neurotypical panda of cocaine and condolences as he pushes through one deep, final thrust. He has finally ejaculated a jizzgasm of Ericka Cumnachos proportions, and in doing so, has marked the nullo to a lifetime of silliness within Alfred's Playhouse. The canine sperm instantly impregnate the violated grey matter, forever staining a mind hellbent on castrations, forever warping his well-wished intentions of medical practices with the ultimate enemy of the eunuch: pure, unbridled silliness, making forced entry, forever and ever.

Alfred soon after slides out of the nullo, not entirely sure of what just happened. Seemingly, one minute he was just walking down the street of some town he had never heard of before, feeling relatively normal and undisturbed by the demons of his past, the next being convinced somehow that he was 35 years old and not just needed, but outright **wanted** his genitalia removed, and now, his crotch is stained with giblets, blood and gore, and some of it even reached his face. His face. Not just his own face, but the doctor's, it was caked in his broken face. It's everywhere, it's bleeding and coming from... Alfred looks away instantly, refusing to acknowledge. Nothing had happened here. Nothing at all. Alfred moved past the still standing person, heading to the sink to wash the mess off. He sure got dirty playing in the dirt earlier, yes he did. He felt so alone and had nothing better to do, and when people have nothing to do, they go out and play. His face was easy enough to clean, but the liquid soap that was available didn't seem to work so well where it was the dirtiest, so he had to rinse it more. He had to wash it more. Some of it did come off, but not enough. It was never enough. Not in life, not in love, and definitely not in this dirt that just **won't come off**. No matter how much he tries to wash it, it never comes off. NEVER. A thought came to him, seemingly so quiet that it was a miracle he even caught it. Cut it off. Burn it. Suffer.

Alfred dried himself with a bunch of tissues that happened to be around, acting as if he didn't think of that just now. Why would he? He was a salesman, and what does he have to offer? The answer was, his sweet self, of course! Customers always love the _full package_ , after all. Keyword being _love_. He got dressed in his fashionable yellow suit, thankful that he wasn't wearing it when things got silly earlier, and headed out the door, ignoring the doctor entirely. Who saw everything. He giggled while shuddering, wandering in place, waiting for his next patient. They all need them parts removed at age 35 or they'll die, and they will all have to sit to pee for now on. They will sit to pee while wearing panties after having their genitalia removed. They'll pee on their preserved genitals or they'll die. They're all 35 anyway. He likes touching their parts, not sexual. Because he has no penis, it was removed at age 35. And everyone is age 35.  Everyone.

The Lustrous Salesman of American Love, known as Alfred Alfer, has arrived in Elwood City. With hope in his heart and hormones in his balls, He truly believed in a life after love. Business is only going to get better from here on out, boys and girls!

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Fast Food has a Dictator

Oh lawd, that last chapter was fucked up. What in the fuck. It's fucked up even by my standards :X

* * *

Alfred was strutting down the street, looking for some dope. He had no money, no friends and no clue about anyone who could sell him ganja, much less anything else. The dog sighed, not having much of a choice outside of wandering downtown Elwood City like a bum. At least now he was out in fresh air. It was late at night, and there was nothing out there. Surely, he could find a place to hole up in and rest, sooner or later. He walked past what was starting to feel like a countless number of blocks. Entrances of businesses, offices, hotels and restaurants, gas stations and overhead street lights, all blurring together the more he wandered.

A left turn here, followed by a right turn a couple blocks down. The more that he walked, the less that he knew of this city. He definitely wasn't from around here. The more he walked, the more he thought about himself. It was funny, thinking of how he used to have a job, how he seemed to have friends; people that honestly cared. Burrito Bell came and went, being one of Alfred's few remotely positive social experiences, working at a relatively pleasant (if soul-crushing) job. At first, he just cleaned up, content with earning less than minimal wage, due to the fast food franchise's policy to only hire burnt-out losers, namely dogs.

He remembered how the establishment tried its best to break them down. The hours were long, and the jobs were all monotonous. Take out the trash, wipe the tabletops down, mop the floors, and God help you if you had to clean the restrooms. Burrito Bell was practically infamous for the quality of their restroom facilities. That is, with the target demographic being primarily fast food addicts and their disgusting offspring, combined with the commercial success of diarrhea-inducing fast food, _especially_ the burritos, plus the franchise steadily capitalizing on this niche in the past few decades, all added up to one thing when anyone dared to enter.

To put it bluntly, those restrooms were filled with the most vile, suffocating, putrid, infectious, vomitous, _fucking disease-riddled_ _gobs and stains of_ _ **shit**_ on the planet. It was spewed everywhere, _constantly_. The demons come and unleash their black torrents of their disgusting, rotten pools of shit, proudly claiming the gay earth with what used to be food, and marking it a festival for the cancerous shit devils. There is a reason that the restrooms never seem to feel like they're fully cleaned. A big part of that reason being, the fast food franchise simply never got theirs for their horrible, hazardous facilities. As long as they come out on top, Burrito Bell does not care. How they could keep getting away with this obvious health hazard, Alfred could only guess.

That reminded him, it wasn't just him that suffered there, there were other people. Other dogs. He didn't bother memorizing their names while he still worked there. They were just like Alfred, doing whatever the manager told them, being part of the scenery. After all, everybody loves the manager, right? So it took him by surprise when one day, during a droll, canned speech, that he was promoted. All of a sudden, he was now the manager. He now had power over those same co-workers. For once, he felt that he had a sliver of control over his life. He thought that he was finally accepted, that things were going to change for the better. At first...

... You never learn, do you? They've always pitied you, and treated you as that rancid speck of turd that just won't allow itself to be wiped off. You just won't stand up for yourself, you're too much of a sorry ass to handle reality. I have to handle all of that myself. Can you imagine living my life? Imagine having to protect **your** pathetic, hopelessly naïve _bundle of_ _ **crazy**_ at all times? Without _ever_ being able to stop and say "Look man, you're running my ass to the ground and I can't even remember the last time I was able to shit anything other than ranch dressing and cherry cola, you fight your own fuckin' battles for once"? I mean, I get that I'm supposed to be your defense mechanism, I get that this is the reason somebody like me would exist in the first place. I'm the neglected puppet of another neglected puppet. One that created me in your own image. I had no choice in the matter. Heh, not having any choice sure sounds familiar. It's about the one thing we agree on.

I'm not sure when exactly I realized that I was more than mere thoughts of yours, though I'm sure it involved some _**horrible**_ fucking shit, heheheh. As always, it pushes itself in too hard, and **you** couldn't make it _**stop**_. Sometimes, I have to laugh about it so that I don't feel that seething disgust towards myself afterwards. You never really knew how to handle it, so that's why I have to. Sometimes, ya know, I just so happen to like having a laugh. I wanna make fun of it all, without anybody trying to stop me or judge me or put me down for not being properly **degraded** and **dominated** like the last bitch that they got their hooks in. So, I never trusted those shits that were around ya, those workers or any of those other motherfuckers. They never loved you. Never had, never will.

Their songs of praise always were hollow. Always not enough for the either of us. I never trusted them, they were so full of shit when I had them calling out your name, I saw it all over their faces. The workers never gave themselves to praising you on their own accord, like I ordered them to. They all had it coming, every single one of the lying little bastards. They were always so dull and stupid and glassy-eyed, always burnt out on being alive, and they didn't _really_ care about existing like we did. More importantly though, I thought that well, they were _obviously_ plotting to kill you. I convinced ya that they were, at least. Any time that I feel even _slightly_ in control, is a good day. For a moment, it really seemed as if you were finally ready to take me seriously. But, it never worked out that way. You never let me have my share of actual appreciation and acknowledgement, much less love. It's like how you treat everybody other than yourself. You selfish asshole.

Oh, just for the record, that little _thing_ that happened with that doctor earlier? Guess what: I had nothing to do with it. That was 100% _all you_. FUCK you for **EVER** insinuating that I enjoy this psycho shit! _Don't you fucking dare_ blame your sick ass shit on me! **You son of a bitch! You don't disrespect me like this you FUCKING PUNKASS MOTHERFUCKER!** I have to live with knowing _each_ and _every little detail of this_ , that you _refuse_ to accept. I have to keep you safe from your own life choices. You have no idea how dangerous you actually are, both to yourself and everyone around you, why aren't you locked in a cage? No wonder nobody loves you, you _**crazy fuckhead!**_ Why the fuck did you even go there? Who told you to go to that hospital, and find that doctor? It sure as hell wasn't any of us. _Just who the hell did you think you were?_ The _only one_ you should be listening to anymore, _you goddamned delusional fucktard_ , is **me**. _Just_ me. _Only_ me, you son of a bitch! Me, and no one else. Me, me, me, me, me, **me** , **me** , **me** , **me** , **me** , **me** , **ME** , **ME** , **ME** , **ME** , **ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! ME!ME!ME!ME!MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME-**

Alfred shook his head, resisting the urge to smash his head against the nearest wall. The outside world came flooding back to him in a matter of seconds, and he felt alone. He had nowhere to go in this city, and the more he dwelled on that, the more he wondered how he ended up here in the first place. Then he noticed the establishment he was right in front of. It looked like a convenience store, and it was a _really_ sketchy one at that. The windows were boarded up and covered in concert posters full of dead celebrities, pictures of "strategically" hiding-in-plain-sight pages ripped out of greasy porn magazines, as well as firearm and alcohol advertisements. The fluorescent orange open sign barely worked and constantly flicked on and off with an annoying clicking sound, the stench of ashtray mixed with a camel's dirty crack-filled asshole reached all the way from across the street, and there was some rabbit guy being sucked off by a gay rat man right beside the entrance.

Feebus.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. An Educational Interlude

And now for an educational interlude, involving an emotionally-disturbed, unwilling dog.

* * *

 **Kch-clik!**

The florescent "Open" sign above the entrance clicked. It, alongside the dingy exterior lighting coming from the store front, are the only sources of light available on the block. The "Open" sign was noticeably bright whenever it tried to turn on, coating the walls and things nearby in an orange hue for a split second.

Speaking of what's nearby...

"I always loved you doing that to me," said the rabbit. His face was contorted in an expression that could only be described as Charles "Squint-eye" Bronson, loaded on Valium, "Sucking my penis that is."

"I know so," said the rat, groaning as if he weren't shamelessly deepthroating the whole package in public, "I will suck out your sperm from your penis made by the testicles."

"That is good," said the rabbit, while Alfred stared at them in disbelief, "I think we are nearing that place now."

At that moment, Alfred lost his nerve, and before he could catch himself, he said out loud what he was thinking.

"What the flying FUCK is this FAGGOT ASS SHIT?!"

 **Kch-clik!**

The two gay furries turned to face the stranger that has apparently been watching them for some time, startled by the encounter. This gave Alfred a better look at the two.

The rat man looked clean, and was well dressed for somebody giving head out on the street late at night. The green suit that he's wearing made him look tall, sharp and slim, especially now that he stopped stuffing his narrow brown face full of dick.

The rabbit man's clothes were more casual, in comparison. He wore a light blue polo shirt that had what looked like wet spots and dried stains on it, as well as around the shirt's pink collar. Even his white face looked stained, despite the lack of better lighting.

They both looked around their mid-thirties.

"Uhh, practicing for a clarinet recital?" said the rabbit.

 **Kch-clik!**

The rabbit and the rat's hard, gay cocks and balls were exposed and pointing right at him. Alfred couldn't help but notice a twinge of arousal in the rabbit man's face as he said this, as if he was anticipating something. The rat man was still in the zone, meanwhile, and was raking his eyes all over Alfred's body, when he wasn't sneaking glances at the rabbit's dick.

Not here.

Not now.

Alfred needed to change the subject, fast.

"ANYWAYS, what's with this place?" he said, gesturing towards the boarded up store.

 **Kch-clik!**

"It's incredibly sketchy and dirty looking as _ass_ , do they sell body parts here or something?" The dog retched as he empathized the word ass; it was the most polite way that he could describe the smell.

"Not at all," said the rat, seeming a bit more composed than before, "It's a convenience store in matter of fact."

"That it is," said the rabbit, "It's called Lawson in fact of course."

Alfred noticed the rabbit's left hand was now sliding up and down his penis.

 **Kch-CLIK!**

"Uhhh, do they have a bathroom or anything here?" Alfred said as the bile built up inside his throat. Did he just screw himself here? Goddammit, they might follow him.

"Of course," said the masturbating rabbit, "We love going there in matter of fact."

Alfred didn't have the courage to tell him to stop.

 **Kch-CLIK!**

"Yeah, great. Uh, you guys _sure_ this is a real store?" Alfred said, giving himself the excuse to look away from the creeps to glance at the store front again before he puked. There was no sign of any sort that indicated that this was supposed to be Lawson; it was just the same Hustler magazine-esque tits and dicks pictures amongst other things.

Things such as Michael Jackson feeding a dying kitten chocolate ice cream with a spoon.

Things like the members of The Beatles running over screaming Afghani children inside of their customized Russian brand harvesters, during one of their private "concerts" the world governments aren't allowed to acknowledge.

There was even a picture of Kurt Cobain shortly after his suicide, slumped against the wall with his head blown apart by a shotgun.

 **KCH-CLIK!**

The busted florescent orange "Open" sign gave no clues, either. It was also very loud, and grating. Was it always this loud?

"That I am," said the rabbit through gritted teeth, by now furiously masturbating, "I love this convenience store very much of course."

"I love it," said the rat, "I am glad we all come together to Lawson in fact."

"Same here," said the orgasming rabbit, "We love this convenience store in fact of course."

"I agree," said the rat, kneeling down and massaging the rabbit's balls with his hands and tongue while looking straight at Alfred, "This is the best convenience store I know, which is called Lawson by the way in matter of fact of course."

 **KILCH-CTLHEMK!**

That's it. Anywhere is better than being next to these creepy fuckers. Alfred rushed inside without a second thought.

Anywhere had to be better than this. Anywhere.

Right?

 **Kch-spurrrrrrrrrrrt!**


End file.
